


Ringer

by dormiensa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Magic, Developing Friendships, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Friendship/Love, Mild Language, Mystery, Non-Graphic Violence, Partnership, Post-Hogwarts, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 07:00:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20484782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dormiensa/pseuds/dormiensa
Summary: It seems that the repercussions of having Voldemort overshadow his life continue to plague Draco.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Couple:** Sarah Manning/Paul Dierden from TV series “Orphan Black”
> 
> **Couple summary:** She is the result of an experiment to produce viable human clones. And she’s extra special because she’s fertile. He has been recruited as one of several handlers of the clones, and he has a personal agenda for being involved in the experiment. They meet by chance after she watches one of her “sisters” commit suicide and assumes that sister’s identity. 
> 
> Many thanks to the impeccable withdrawnred for being my beta!

“Here’s your tea, Mrs. Travers.”

“Thank you, dear. Put it on the side table here. Now, go fetch the new _Witch Weekly_ and read the recipes to me. That _Prophet_ article about the latest gruesome murder is so deeply unsettling; I need something to cheer me up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

~*~*~*~

The little boy’s face was red with exertion, a thin sheen of sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, but he stubbornly put all his weight against the chair, ignoring the scraping sound of the wooden legs against the floor, until it hit the cupboards with a BANG! He stumbled against the seat as his sweaty palms slipped but gave a delighted laugh and scrambled atop it. Throwing up one leg, he hoisted himself onto the kitchen counter. Mindful of his position, he got to his feet and grabbed one of the handles of the cupboard doors, prying it open and looking hopefully inside. His narrow face split into a wide grin as he stared at the stacks of biscuits. After snatching as many packets as he could hold, he settled happily near the sink, his legs dangling off the side of the counter.

~*~*~*~

The young man collapsed onto the floor as another convulsion hit. When the pain finally receded, he examined himself. There was a new scrape mark on his left forearm where he’d landed. He dragged himself along the floor toward the foot of the corner table where he’d stashed his supply of gauze and antiseptic ointment. Growling at the clumsiness of his gnarled fingers, he finally managed to apply the ointment without losing too much of it and secured the square of gauze with a wandless adhesive charm. Exhausted from the effort, he forced himself into a sitting position and leaned against the wall, wheezing. He ducked his head against his shoulder in a feeble attempt to wipe away some of the sweat burning his eyes.

After a moment’s recovery, he opened his eyes and stared down the long corridor first toward the kitchen and then the entrance to the sitting room. His mind almost made up to take a much-needed nap, his stomach gave a sudden loud rumble. He sighed and stared down at his hands. They’d been trembling all afternoon and still were. A quick mental inventory produced another sigh. The food items available were too troublesome to prepare in his state. He would have to go to bed hungry.

He slowly dragged himself to his feet and headed toward the sitting room.

~*~*~*~

_Malfoy heir to be placed on house arrest, decrees_  
_Wizengamot after surprising statements from_  
_The-Boy-Who-Resurrected_

Draco Malfoy threw aside the day’s _Prophet_ and stared glumly at his breakfast. The elves had made his favourite for the third day in a row, likely under strict instructions from his mother “to keep him in good spirits”. He huffed. What would lift his mood would actually be a return of—

“You’re not eating, Draki-kins.” There was a note of disappointment in his mother’s voice. He roused himself and began tucking into his eggs. He stared fixedly at his plate until he heard a small sigh and the slight clink of her teacup against its saucer to indicate that she was also finally partaking of her meal instead of boring holes into his skull. 

After the awkward meal, he escaped into the library. It was only the first week into his one-year sentence, but he was already bored. Sighing, he browsed a new shelf and took out a book on rare flora of the Pantanal region of South America. He sank into an armchair.

~*~*~*~

George opened the door and grinned when he espied their visitor. “Hermione! How lovely of you to come! Welcome to our humble abode!”

Hermione rolled her eyes and gave him a quick hug before heading toward the kitchen to greet Mrs. Weasley. She greeted Bill and Fleur as she passed them. 

“Oh, my dear, I’m so glad you could come! Help yourself to some shortbread biscuits. Or if you prefer, I made some strawberry tarts this morning. But don’t fill up—I’m just about done here!”

Hermione had just picked up a biscuit when there was a clattering and Ron stumbled into the kitchen, looking distinctly as one who’d just rolled out of bed. “Oh, it’s you, ’Mione!” He hugged her.

“And a good morning to you, Ronald. I trust you slept well.” 

“’Course! Mum, can we eat yet? I’m starving!”

“You can have some biscuits, but you’re not getting anything else until you’ve set the table. Will Harry be joining us?”

“Nah. He’s with a team out hunting that Cruciatus Killer.”

“What was Robards thinking to send the poor boy after such a dangerous criminal?”

“Well, Mum, seeing as Harry off’d ol’ Voldemort, guess Robards figured—”

“Ronald Bilius! I nearly scalded myself!”

“Oh, c’mon, Mum! He’s been dead for months now! It’s safe to say his name! Besides, you saw that shrivelled carcass; they even burned it as an extra precaution.”

“Ron’s right, Mrs. Weasley. We can’t let him continue to terrorize us from beyond the grave. Mrs. Longbottom said that she finally got over her fear by yelling his name every time she had trouble digging up stubborn weeds in her garden.”

“Hey, that’s a great idea, Mum! You could yell his name whenever you burn yourself cooking! Or hit your head against the low ceiling in your bedroom!”

“Have you finished setting the table, Ron? Then get the jams and honey out. And the butter. Unless you want to eat your toast plain.”

~*~*~*~

The middle-aged man startled awake from another nightmare. He fumbled for the glass of water atop the table by the bed and cursed when it landed on the floor with a crash. He groped for the string to switch on the lamp and winced at the sudden brightness. He stared down at the expected mess and blinked several times to focus. The floor was still a blur but for a few small sparkles of light bouncing off the shards. Right. He’d forgot again about the blasted poor eyesight. Cursing, he grabbed the spectacles beside the lamp. Then, gingerly to avoid stepping on the broken glass, he went in search of a broom, cursing once again as he collided with the doorframe. 

~*~*~*~


	2. Chapter 2

Mrs. Travers awoke and rubbed her eyes. She gave a small yelp when she realized she wasn’t alone in her room. “You scared me, dear! What are you doing standing there?”

“You’d said to watch over you while you slept.”

“You silly boy! I meant it as a joke! I—oh, never mind. That grandson of mine did warn that I had to watch my words. Well, then, don’t just stand there! Help me up!”

~*~*~*~

_Murderous Death Eater on the Loose!_  
_Aurors Link Series of Killings to One Wizard and_  
_Hunt Elusive “Cruciatus Killer”!_

“How in bloody hell did they get wind of this?! Who is the traitor that told the _Prophet_ that name!”

Harry and his colleagues glanced awkwardly at one another. Robards paced and yelled for another ten minutes before summarily dismissing them.

Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly. They’d been chasing after the killer for two weeks but were always two steps behind, it seemed. The body count was increasing. It was a small mercy that the _Prophet_ had yet to discover the exact number of victims. If they did… he shuddered. The last body the other team found had been horribly mutilated by numerous knife wounds. And, of course, subjected to multiple _Crucio_ castings, like all the others. It was the only substantial clue that connected all the murders, and, like Robards, Harry’s instincts insisted that they were done by the same, deranged person. It wasn’t anything as tangible as a magical signature, and the final causes of death varied, but there was just _something_… something _familiar_, his mind kept supplying. Somehow, he’d seen that psychotic pattern of thought before, though he’d yet to put his finger on it.

He bumped into someone. “Sorry! Are you—oh, hello, ’Mione. Where are you off to?”

“Hi, Harry! Just heading back to my office. You look terrible! When’s the last time you slept in a proper bed?”

“Dunno. Before all this, I guess.”

“Well, you’d better show your face at Grimmauld Place soon. Else, Kreacher will start a search party. I know that’s technically not possible, but house-elves have their own brand of magic that—”

“Yes, all right. D’you wanna come over for dinner? It’ll keep him from fussing over me. I’ll see if Ron’s free, too.”

“Sure, I think I’m free. My report is done, so unless Brzęczyszczykiewicz screws up again while preparing for the meeting with the Polish Ministry, I shouldn’t need to stay behind.”

“The only reason he’s still the Liaison Officer is ’cause we don’t have a good Polish translation spell yet.”

“Oh, hush. He’s incompetent but mostly harmless. Anyway, I’ll be Vaillancourt’s assistant when she attends the conference in Villefranche-sur-Mer. I fully intend on soaking in some sun while I’m there.”

~*~*~*~

The little boy rubbed his eyes. He’d fallen asleep on the sofa again. Instinctively making his way to the bathroom, he turned on the taps to draw a bath but suddenly looked behind him in fear. He relaxed when he saw no one. But he could hear the echo of the Komkor’s disapproval. The imposing man had constantly berated him for his cleanliness, calling him all sorts of names that he didn’t understand, though they were clearly unpleasant. Well, the Komkor wasn’t here right now, so he most certainly would take a nice, long bath and enjoy it.

As he soaped himself, he wondered where the Komkor could be. He’d not seen him in a long time. And while the man liked to startle him with sudden appearances and make him practise spellcasting for _hours_, he’d rarely been gone for this long. 

Deciding not to worry about it, he completed the rest of his washing-up routine and went to the kitchen for food. The biscuits were getting rather boring, but as he couldn’t find an alternative, he once again filled his glass with water from the sink and began munching.

Having finished his meal, he headed toward the small room set aside for his training. In an act of defiance yesterday, he’d forgone practising the usual drills and scrunched his face to try and make a butterfly appear instead. To his delight, it’d worked, although it’d quickly faded away. He was determined to try again today. And to see if he could magic other animals into existence. A white peacock, perhaps. He paused: why did that come to mind? He was certain he’d never seen one before. 

He shook his head. This was not the first time he’d had these strange thoughts. Oh! There was the chirping of his robin friend again! He pulled back the heavy, black curtains and opened the window.

~*~*~*~

_Cruciatus Killer Strikes Again and_  
_Expanding Territory!_  
_Dark Mark Sighted Outside Cleveleys,_  
_Lancashire_

“Harry, mate, not that I doubt your abilities, but if half of what the _Prophet_ is saying is true, you’ve got a real problem with this killer.”

Harry sighed. “It’s Robards. He’s refusing to follow Kingsley’s suggestion of talking with some of the Death Eaters in Azkaban to see if they’d be willing to consult in exchange for a reduced parole period. Ever since Kingsley became interim Minister, Robards has practically been outrightly defying him—thinks he’s betrayed the department by becoming a politician.”

“Well, while he’s an idiot to ignore Kingley’s advice, you can’t really blame him. Scrimgeour rather made a muck of things and gave Aurors a bad reputation,” Hermione said as she bit into her salad. “Who did Kingsley have in mind to be the consultant?”

“Lucius Malfoy.”

“Bloody hell! I’m with Robards: can’t trust Malfoys. You could end up dead because he gave you rotten information.”

“Really, Ron! What benefit would he get by doing that? Don’t you think he’d be in even more trouble with the Ministry for feeding false information, especially if any harm came to The-Boy-Who-Resurrected?”

“Hermione!”

“Sorry, Harry, I couldn’t resist.”

“Fine, you’re right. But I still think it’s a bad idea!”

“Who would you rather they consult? The Carrows? Dolohov? Macnair? Or perhaps they could appeal to Death Eaters who are on the run, like the Lestrange brothers and Yaxley. Make a deal that if they helped, they wouldn’t be sent to Azkaban along with the rest of them.”

Ron scowled. “I just don’t trust Lucius.”

“I don’t either, but he’s more likely to cooperate than his fellow Death Eaters.”

“’Mione’s right, Ron. You know we—well, the others in the department—wouldn’t even be considering this if we had a better solution. What’s important is catching the killer before he takes more lives.”

“Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

“Well, it’s a moot point anyway. Until we can convince Robards, we’re stuck.”

“Why can’t the Wizengamot just order the Aurors to make the deal? Call it a national crisis or something.”

There was a moment of stunned silence.

“Y’know, Ron, you’re wasted as a reserve Keeper for the Cannons.”

~*~*~*~

The young man retched again when the sour odour of his vomit assailed his nostrils. Rolling away from the puddle, he crawled slowly on elbows and knees toward the kitchen. He managed to hoist himself onto the countertop and fumble for a glass of water without too much spillage.

As he leaned wearily against the cabinet, he wondered again where Rookwood was. Surely the takeover of Hogwarts would be complete by now. When he’d left to join the other Death Eaters what must’ve been several weeks ago—it was hard to keep a timeline when one was frequently in and out of consciousness—Rookwood had gleefully informed that the Dark Lord had lured Harry Potter to the school and would finish him off once and for all.

Could they somehow have failed?

~*~*~*~

_Victim of Cruciatus Killer Survives by Downing_  
_Draught of Living Death and Playing Dead!_  
_Says Killer is Young, Tall, and Blond!_  
_Can the Aurors Finally Identify and Capture the_  
_Criminal?_

__  
__  


_ _“Draco! Where in Morgana’s name are you rushing off to?”_ _

_ _“I need to talk to someone who’ll listen!”_ _

_ _“Really, the mess you’ve made. Flossie! Ah, there you are. Master Draco has had an accident with his luncheon. Tidy up his mess and tell Flimsy to get him out of his stained clothes.”_ _

_ _Draco stopped before the fireplace. He realized he had no idea how to contact Hermione Granger. After pacing about for several minutes, only vaguely acknowledging the house-elf who appeared with fresh clothing that he absently donned, he finally threw caution to the wind. _ _

_ _As the Floo powder ignited, he shouted, “Hermione Granger’s residence!”_ _

_ _When the flames turned the welcoming green, he carefully put his head through… and came face-to-face with a furry, orange visage._ _

_ _“Greetings, Aetheltom. May I speak with your pet?”_ _

_ _There was a purr and a disappearing blur of orange. While he waited, he looked about the residence and was unsurprised by the wall of bookshelves. He _was_ surprised that the decor was in sage green and shades of cream, with dark woods as accents, having assumed Gryffindor colours and sensibilities. _ _

_ _He was soon confronted by a pair of fluffy slippers, much like the pair that Pansy owned, though thankfully not a garish pink. _ _

_ _“Malfoy?”_ _

_ _He glimpsed blue-and-turquoise striped pajama bottoms before a familiar face, framed by a wild mane, nearly encompassed his entire view. _ _

_ _“Hello, Granger. Apologies for the intrusion on a Saturday. I have some information about this Cruciatus Killer that may be of interest to Potter, but I doubt very much that he’d be interested in speaking to me so precipitously.”_ _

_ _“And what makes you think that I’d be more willing to listen to you?”_ _

_ _He blinked. _Intuition_, he mentally replied, but that would hardly be sufficient. “The fact that you testified on my behalf during my trial?”_ _

_ _It was Hermione’s turn to blink. There was a pause, then she said, “Well, I’m listening.”_ _

_ _As succinctly as possible, Draco related the facts about the Dark Lord’s idea to create a new type of Death Eater, a weapon to be used to boost his ranks until more followers could be found on the continent when he was ready to take it over. A piece of a trustworthy Death Eater’s soul would be used to create a duplicate of said wizard, thus ensuring the unquestionable loyalty of the so-called “new member” joining the ranks. _ _

_ _“Naturally, they needed to test the idea and sort out any problems. Guess who was given the ‘honour’ of being the one experimented on?”_ _

_ _Hermione had been listening in mounting horror, and she now stared aghast at the pale blond head in her fireplace. _ _

_ _“I know this sounds fanciful, Granger, but I assure you that, bored as I am while being imprisoned once again in my own home, I would not choose this manner of indulging my imagination.” When she failed to respond, he huffed. “Granger! Have any of my words managed to penetrate that bushy mane of yours to make themselves heard in your brain, or should I Weasel-fy my tale to be more easily comprehended?”_ _

_ _Hermione sputtered. “I heard you loud and clear, thank you very much, you sanctimonious shitpouch! I’m just thinking over the horrible implications on the population of creating such a plague of fiends!” She took a deep breath. “So, you’re saying that there’s an uber-evil clone of you running amok and killing people?” _ _

_ _“While I object to the term ‘uber’ and know not what a ‘clone’ is, though I can surmise, in short: yes.”_ _

_ _“A-and how many replicas of you were created?”_ _

_ _“Five.”_ _

_ _“Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld!”_ _

_ _Draco raised a brow. “_A tes souhaits!_ What an unusual exclamatory phrase to use, though oddly appropriate in the situation. I’ve rather felt beleaguered by forces beyond my control these past few years.” _ _

_ _“It _would_ make sense that only _he_ would get the magical seven,” Hermione muttered to herself. “Of course, he rather botched it with Harry being the unexpected one.”_ _

_ _“Granger, what in blazes are you talking about?”_ _

_ _“Horcruxes.”_ _

_ _“And what in Hades are they?”_ _

_ _When Hermione had finished _her_ concise explanation, Draco looked even more gobsmacked than she._ _

_ _“Y-you’re _certain_ that they’ve been all destroyed?”_ _

_ _“Yes. Voldemort’s folly was his utter belief that no one would ever find out his plan or locate his hidden Horcruxes. So, by the time he realized that we had destroyed a few of them, it was too late to create more before the final confrontation.”_ _

_ _“S-so, if he’d killed Potter, there’d be new Horcruxes created, to ensure that there would always be a Dark Lord, possibly for generations.” Draco shuddered at the thought._ _

_ _“If it didn’t kill him first. I’ve been doing some research on the effects of casting multiple _Avada_s, and it’s my belief that splitting the soul too many times causes enough instability to incapacitate a person, possibly fatally.”_ _

_ _Draco looked alarmed. “Am I in any danger of premature expiration?”_ _

_ _“I don’t know. I’ll check with Mungo’s.”_ _

_ _“I would appreciate it. I would also appreciate if you would tell Potter my information post-haste.” A sudden thought occurred and his eyes widened in shock. “You don’t think my story’s bollocks!”_ _

_ _“Of course not. Your imagination’s not _that_ canny. Else you would have escaped Voldemort’s clutches. Really, Malfoy, the taboo’s lifted. Either you live in terror of the name for the rest of your natural life or find a way to not squeal like a pig every time you hear it.”_ _

_ _“_You_ try living with that terror in your house.”_ _

_ _“Thanks, I have. I’ve had him try and invade my thoughts, too. If a Muggle-born can survive that, I’m sure you will too, eventually.”_ _

_ _Draco harrumphed. “Look, I’m sorry I cast aspersions upon your person. I—”_ _

_ _“It would’ve been more believable without the condescension. But I forgive you for being a prat, anyway. This has been fun, Malfoy, but time is of the essence. I’m going over to Harry’s to tell him what you’ve told me. I trust you can see yourself out.”_ _

_ __ _

~*~*~*~

The little boy squealed with delight as the rainbow array of sparkles bounced about the room. He didn’t care if the Komkor found out. This was so much more interesting than toppling moving targets or burning holes through solid objects.

~*~*~*~

They were led into the airy, cathedral-ceilinged sunroom at the back of manor, where they were greeted by Narcissa Malfoy and invited to partake of some tea. She insisted in spite of their protestation that they were there on Ministry business.

After some awkward small-talk, Harry finally cleared his throat and spoke directly to Draco. “I finally convinced the Wizengamot of your story, and they’ve agreed to launch a search party for the other clones besides the murderous one. Do you have any idea where the other four might be?”

Draco shook his head. “They were very secretive about even discussing the existence of these… clones. And as I was Imperiused to ensure compliance, I wasn’t always aware of my surroundings, never mind the conversations that went on.”

Narcissa’s cup had rattled slightly at the mention of the Imperius, but she did not remark on it, saying instead, “I was also not privy to these conversations. However, I would assume that these clones would be kept in secure locations and under the watchful eye of one of the Dark Lord’s most trusted. If I were to make a guess, I would think Dolohov an obvious… ‘mentor’.” She sighed. “The violent one sounds very much like a pupil of my late sister.”

Hermione gasped. “Of course!”

Harry also drew a sharp breath. “Yes! _That’s_ why the scenes seemed so familiar!” At the inquiring looks, he explained. “When we examined the scene of the first crime, I felt that I’d somehow seen something like it before, and that feeling only got stronger with each case. I’ve seen enough of how Bellatrix operates to…” He stole a quick glance at Hermione, who eventually loosened her grip on her chair and let out a deep breath.

“Ms Granger, I know this apology comes much too late and will hardly atone for your suffering, but please know that I very much regret my passivity while my sister…”

Hermione managed a tight smile. “Thank you, Mrs Malfoy. I understand your dilemma and I’ve never held you responsible for any of it. I just—I can still feel the pain sometimes, and the nightmares are… anyway, I’ve been speaking to a Mind Healer, and that has helped a lot. But getting back to the clones, do you know where they might be?”

“I’m afraid not. I would not search the principal residences of any of the Dark Lord’s lieutenants as the first attempt to locate the clones. I doubt they will be there. While not many have more than one property, I’m certain all have personal safehouses. I would try to seek the locations of these. They will be hidden by blood wards, so if you can obtain samples of their blood, that will ease your search.”

“We’ve only guessed at two Death Eater tutors. Any guesses on the other three?”

“The Dark Lord had remarked on my adeptness at potions,” Draco said quietly. “I would look into properties belonging to Rookwood and Avery. And Yaxley has always been a favourite.”

“Indeed,” agreed Narcissa. “Those five seem the most obvious candidates.”

“Well, Mrs Malfoy and, er, Mr Malfoy, we really appreciate your help with this. We’ll keep you posted on new developments.” Harry and Hermione stood and gathered their things.

Draco also stood. “Before you go, Potter, might I have a quick word in private?”

The two wizards made their way toward the main corridor. The two witches stared curiously after them and then shared worried looks. 

To break the awkward silence, Hermione asked, “Mrs Malfoy, have you noticed anything, er, uncharacteristic in Mal—your son’s behaviour lately?”

“No, I have not. With the exception of his rushing out of the dining room to, apparently, Floo-call you the other day.” At Hermione’s look, Narcissa asked, “Is there something I should be apprised of, Ms Granger?”

“Well, it’s just that… having pieces of one’s soul ripped away can cause instability. I’ve asked my Mind Healer about it, and she says that behavioural changes and emotional upheavals would be the most obvious clues of an afflicted soul.”

“I see. I will certainly pay closer attention to my son in the next while and notify you if I have any causes for concern. Thank you, Ms Granger, for informing of this.”

“Y-you’re welcome. I-I wouldn’t worry too much, Mrs Malfoy. While the situation is… not great, the fact that your son did not intentionally split his soul has to be in his favour. Deliberation in magic has always produced more powerful outcomes, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“That is a small comfort. Thank you, Ms Granger.”

A cough at the door indicated that the private conversation was ended. Harry and Hermione followed Draco to the front door and exchanged farewells. 

When they settled into Hermione’s office, Harry quietly told her of Draco’s request to assist in person on the investigation. And… of his insistence that Hermione be his partner on said quest.

“He said that, given our history of animosity, we’d probably end up trying to strangle each other before we even found a single clone. I can’t say I disagree. But I told him that you would have to be on board with his mad scheme before I try and talk the Wizengamot into letting him out of the house. We’d have security measures and tracking devices, of course, to make sure we always know where you two are. And don’t feel you have to do this, ’Mione. I’m sure one of the other Aurors could partner with him. Assuming the Wizengamot doesn’t just shut him in Azkaban for even daring to suggest such a plan.”

“Well… I… let me think on it and get back to you.”

~*~*~*~

The middle-aged man caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window and shuddered. He stared down at his veiny hands and frowned. Shuffling in slippers that only outwardly seemed to fit, he made his way to the kitchen for a cup of tea.

After a bit of toast with the tea, he felt sufficiently fortified to make it to the sunroom to attempt once again to produce magic. 

It was the most frustrating aspect of waking up in a foreign body. It was also particularly cruel to be trapped in one that had once belonged to either a Squib or an actual Muggle. 

Squaring his shoulders, he focussed his mind. It was fortunate that ever since exhibiting his first signs of magic, he had been able to practise wandless magic—in secret, of course. While his father had indulged him in many ways, he had been surprisingly strict about the use of wandless magic, actually forbidding its use. But he had defied his father’s strictures, for why should he not have the same conveniences of magical use as the grown-ups? If his mum had ever caught onto his act of rebellion, she did not let on nor did she stop him. So, despite being bereft of a proper wand, which would have crippled even as powerful a wizard as his father or Snape or Dolohov, he was undaunted. If only the conduit for his magic were not so obviously crippled. 

_Never mind._ If he dwelled on regrets, he would never leave this prison.


	3. Chapter 3

“’Mione, are you sure—”

“If you ask me that _one more time_, Harry James Potter, I will cast a _Silencio_ on you!”

“But ’Mione, he’s—”

“That goes doubly for you, Ronald Bilius Weasley! Look, I know he’s a prat. I know I will have to be on alert in case we run into danger because he will always think of his own skin first. But this investigation would be too conspicuous if there were more than two. And anyway, Kingsley himself cast the protective spell on me so that I can’t suffer life-threatening injuries, no matter who inflicted them. And he’s going to be casting the one that tethers Malfoy to me so that he can’t do a bunk nor hide from me. ’Course, if you really don’t think I can handle the mission, I’ll just tell them that one of you has kindly volunteered.”

“Gross, a magical bond with Malfoy!”

“Oh, you might surprise yourselves and return home the best of friends! Wouldn’t that be wonderful to have stopped centuries of family feuding?”

“Not bloody likely!”

“’Mione, you know we trust you. We’re just—”

“Yes, yes, and your concern is very heartwarming. But now that you have such a great lead on what the killer looks like, your priority is to neutralize him as soon as possible. So, go and reenact your saviour role and leave me to find the other clones with Malfoy.”

“Fine. If I hear ‘greater good’ come out of your mouth, _I’ll_ be the one casting the _Silencio_.”

Hermione chuckled, gave her two best friends a hug, and closed her Extension Charm-enhanced rucksack with a final tug.

~*~*~*~

“Remember, Malfoy—”

“Yes, yes, if I try to escape or hex you or sneeze into your tinned soup, you’ll scream bloody murder to the Wizengamot and I’ll be living out my miserable existence in a small, dark cell in Azkaban.”

Hermione sniffed. “I _was_ going to say that there are a lot more Muggles walking about than what you’ll be used to, even during Christmas season in Diagon Alley, so try not to get jostled too badly and disrupt your glamour spell.”

Draco harrumphed. “I still don’t know why we can’t just Apparate or Portkey to the locations.”

“We can’t guarantee that these properties will be inside the local magical boundaries. And it’s too easy to run into trouble by going from one magical community to another. We’d stand out too much, two complete strangers suddenly appearing and poking around.”

“Fine. But if we end up failing to locate even a single one of the clones in the three-month limit because we spent most of it travelling by Muggle commute, you are taking full responsibility.”

“Just like a Slytherin to deny all responsibility when things go wrong. It’s no wonder Voldemort was able to go unchecked for so long.”

Draco hissed. “I know foolhardy defiance is very much a prized Gryffindor trait, but I would suggest you not go about the Muggle world bandying that name around. It would definitely draw unnecessary attention to us.”

Hermione sputtered. “You are such an insufferable prat! As if _I’m_ the one who’s lived a coddled existence in the magical world all my life! I’m merely trying to get you acclimatized to his bloody name so you won’t squeal at inopportune times and give us away!”

“I won’t if you’d just not say his bloody name!”

“Do you want to live the rest of your life terrified of a silly name? The way to truly thwart his desire for immortality is to ensure his is just another name and his doings just another event in our history. Perhaps one day, no one will even remember the name Voldemort, only Tom Riddle.”

Draco flinched and rolled his eyes. “Yes, Professor.”

Hermione glared for a moment, then strode on ahead. “Come along, Malfoy. We’ve a train to catch. And it’s very easy to get lost in the Underground.”

~*~*~*~

“I can’t believe they kept vials of their blood in Mungo’s.”

“They… didn’t.”

“Oh, how very foolish of me to not realize that they would be the perfect justification for raiding Death Eater residences. With full blessing from the Ministry. Did the Aurors at least leave some of the furnishings and tapestries? Traitorous scum they may be in the population’s eyes, but surely their families deserve to move on with their lives as much as anyone else who ‘suffered’ through the War?”

“There were no raids. The families were asked to voluntarily provide the vials from which only a small sample of blood was taken. The Aurors told them that the killer might be using their family members’ safehouses to hide in, so they were assisting in his capture. Given that there’s no fixed pattern to the killings, only that wizards and their families are being targeted, no one can know if they may be the next victim. In the end, all the families cooperated.”

“And the fact that the blood is also being used for a secret mission to flush out multiple copies of the Malfoy prat wasn’t deemed need-to-know.”

“_Would_ you want that to be made known? Because I’m happy to send a message to the _Prophet_. Who knows, maybe the entire magical community will come together and help in the search.”

“So, Granger, how much further to Avery’s safehouse?”

~*~*~*~

Two weeks into their search, they were ready to call it quits. They’d only found three of the locations, and all of them had turned up empty. Malfoy’s complaints about the poor conditions of their lodgings and their meals were a constant thorn, as were his barbed comments about unfamiliar Muggle appliances, devices, and other contraptions (which was quite an extensive list, given his complete ignorance). Hermione’s scathing remarks on the stagnation of the wizarding world peppered with proof via Muggle technological inventions (some of which Draco secretly and grudgingly admitted weren’t half-bad) only added fuel. And, of course, they could hardly avoid petty squabbles engendered from having been Sorted into historically antagonistic Houses.

Things had come to a head when Draco outrightly refused to step foot into “another bloody station”. He had stormed off and had been forcibly stopped in his tracks by Hermione’s use of a simple spell to yank him back to her side. (It was fortunate that they were outside a small village and no one was around to witness.) They’d then proceeded to duel. Hermione was shocked to learn that he could cast wandlessly. Draco was even more incensed to learn that she had a sort of shield charm about her that deflected his hexes and jinxes.

So now, they were sulking, backs turned, twenty yards apart. 

Draco swatted away a bothersome insect and hissed in pain. The Stinging Hex had caught him in the ribs. He felt a presence and at first refused to acknowledge it. But then he saw the proffered canister of balm. Still, he pretended to not see it. There was a sigh, and then the container was shoved into his hand as she huffed off.

He reluctantly uncapped the balm and applied it, unable to stop the moan of relief as it took effect. Looking up at the sky and realizing that it was late afternoon, he got to his feet and made his way to her. 

He held out the balm and said in a conciliatory voice, “Granger, it’s getting late. Let’s go back to the inn and ask for a room for the night. We’ll move on tomorrow morning.”

She took back the canister and strode toward the village, though pausing to ensure he followed.

~*~*~*~

After running a good fifty yards to safety, they paused to catch their breaths. They turned back to look at the burning pile that had not five minutes ago been one of Dolohov’s safehouses. And given the nasty booby trap that had been set in place, it was definitely a legitimate one, unlike the previous one they’d visited. Not having heard any screams of pain emitting after the fire broke out, they could only hope that the house had been standing empty.

They quickly hid themselves when they heard voices. They saw a handful of villagers come running to investigate and calling for others to help put out the flames.

Deciding it’d be best not to linger, they grabbed one of the emergency Portkeys and landed in front of a pale yellow cottage. When no one answered the door, they made their way to the backyard and plopped into two of the lawn chairs. Hermione felt uncomfortable barging into her friend’s place without an invitation and sent her Patronus through the partially open kitchen window toward the cottage’s fireplace to request entry.

While she awaited a response, she checked herself for injuries. Except for some minor scrapes and burns, she felt all right.

“How do you feel, Malfoy?”

Draco opened his eyes and lifted his head away from the back of the chair. “I’m still alive, thank you kindly. Next time, will you do me the honour of _not_ jumping headlong into a place known or suspected to belong to a Death Eater? As our recent experience has taught us, they are a paranoid bunch. Dolohov even more so, though not quite as suspicious as my late aunt. Thankfully, also not as inventive.”

“I’m sorry, Malfoy.” She lowered her eyes and blushed. “Are you in any pain? I’ve asked Susan Bones, who owns this cottage, if we may stay for the night. She’s training to be a Healer at Mungo’s and should be off her shift in the next hour.”

“I’m fine. If you could pass the Dittany once you’ve used it on your wounds, that’d be appreciated.”

When Susan opened the back door to usher them inside, the silence between them had grown quite intolerable. But Draco’s mood calmed after he was examined and told he’d be fine, no lasting harm from the nasty hex. The hot meal also did wonders to improve his demeanour. 

Susan wisely kept conversation light, updating them on the goings-on of the wizarding world and giving interesting anecdotes on recent cases she’d treated. She confirmed that the killer was still at large, although several had come forth to report that they’d seen a man matching the vague description that the Auror’s office had released in the vicinity of the victims’ homes prior to their deaths. Luckily, no one seemed to have pinpointed that the killer looked like a twin of the Malfoy heir.

When Susan left for home, even Draco expressed thanks in a sincere manner that had the Healer grinning.

Draco and Hermione stared at one another for an awkward moment and tacitly agreed it would be wise to turn in for the night.


	4. Chapter 4

When the soft bangs indicating the opening and shutting of the cupboards sounded, the little boy crept slowly and quietly into the kitchen. There was relief when he saw it was not the Komkor. His face broke into a smile. He’d been hoping to get a glimpse of the house-elf ever since realizing why there was always a full cupboard of biscuits. 

It was busy filling the shelf again. And snapping its fingers to tidy the dishes in the sink and making sure they were put back into the other cupboard.

“I’m tired of biscuits. I want something else, something better.”

The house-elf gave a squeal. 

“You can’t leave! You have to stay!”

“Please, young sir, please lets Quasi go! Quasi promises he brings delicious foods for young sir! Anything young sir wants!”

The little boy grinned. “I want roast beef and chicken with the cream sauce and lamb stew. I don’t want any yucky green vegetables. And then for dessert, I want chocolate gateau.”

“Quasi promises! Quasi cooks all young sir’s food and brings it. Please lets Quasi goes to prepare young sir’s food!”

“Very well. You can go and cook.” A thought occurred to the little boy. “But you can’t tell anyone that I’m here. Th-there are bad people who want to hurt me. So, you have to keep a secret.”

The house-elf’s ears twitched nervously. “Quasi says nothing. Master tells Quasi mustn’t tell anyone about young sir. Quasi obeys Master.” He disappeared with a “POP”.

The little boy giggled. He would finally have a decent meal for a change. No more biscuits.

~*~*~*~

“Ergh! The smell’s so much worse in here!” Hermione pressed a hand to her nose in disgust.

“I’ll check the rooms first and you follow once I’ve cleared them.”

Draco had just discovered the brewing room and was gingerly examining the contents of several cauldrons—frowning at the various poisons and wondering if they’d been tested on unsuspecting victims—when he heard Hermione’s piercing, “Oh, my God! Malfoy!”

He ran up the stairs and headed toward the room that she stood in front of. Her hand over her mouth, she led him to a dark corner. Peering out from a pile of blankets that he’d not observed was a face with blotched discolorations topped by pale blond hair. He let out a shaky breath. He willed himself calm and finally met her concerned eyes. 

Seeing that he was not about to pass out, Hermione pulled the blankets further back. And gasped. The figure had curled himself into the fetal position, and his hands looked gnarled, as one might see on an elderly person with extreme arthritis. His frame also seemed warped. There were lesions and rashes on all the exposed areas of skin. 

“The putrid smell was particularly horrid in this corner, so I thought I’d… how long do you think he’s been… dead?”

“C-can’t have been that long, given that the body hasn’t disintegrated. And he’s been poisoned. I found several cauldrons in the cellar, each holding a different one. And judging from the variety of disfigurations, I assume he’d had to test them on himself.”

Hermione gasped again. “Th-that’s barbaric!” She shook her head. “I-I’d better contact Harry.” She made to step out of the room, paused, then pulled Draco with her. 

He stood quietly to one side as the Aurors examined and catalogued the scene, finally taking away the body and the sealed-off cauldrons. Hermione and Draco were escorted off the premises and watched as magical barriers were constructed around the perimeter of the house to prevent further entry and disturbance. She tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder, and when it wasn’t brushed away, gave a small squeeze.

Harry hugged her and paused awkwardly in front of Draco before mumbling something that sounded like “Sorry for your loss” and joining his teammates.

Draco passively followed Hermione back to the inn. He shook his head to her inquiry if she should contact his mum. He declined partaking of a meal and slumped into his bed. Hermione hesitated but then tucked the blankets about him and went down to the dining room for a quick bite.

When she got back to the room, Draco was still in the same position, eyes closed but, from the tension in his body, still awake. She sat at the edge of the bed.

“Malfoy, I’m sorry about the clone.” He made no acknowledgement but neither did he turn away to indicate unwillingness to listen to her. “That was a horrible thing to see and even worse that he suffered so cruelly. Rookwood is a vile excuse of a human being. I’m glad he’s been caught and can’t cause further harm to anyone else.” She noticed the grimace, and after a moment’s debate, she said, hesitantly, “I obviously don’t know how it must feel to see an image of yourself lying on the floor with his life snuffed out, but I imagine it’s like what they call an out-of-body sort of hyper-reality. We’re both no strangers to death, not after what happened at Hogwarts, but the fragility of life must seem so much more of an impact in this situation.” 

Draco sighed. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. 

“Malfoy, I know that everyone deals with grief and loss differently, and I know we’re not on such good terms that you’d feel comfortable confiding in me. But I just want to say that I’m here if you need someone to talk to. I can’t promise that I can give you comfort in the way you need, but I can promise I won’t judge and I won’t belittle your feelings in any way. I’m going to have a quick shower. You should consider one, too. Sometimes the physical act of cleansing can be just as beneficial as a psychological one.”

Hermione got off the bed and grabbed her things. The door of the bathroom was just about to click shut when she heard a mumbled, “Thank you, Granger.”

~*~*~*~

_Witness Claims Cruciatus Killer is_  
_Lucius Malfoy!_  
_(Go to page 3 for theory on how_  
_he escaped from high-security_  
_cell in Azkaban)_

“I always thought that Malfoy boy was a bad egg.”

“Yes, Mrs. Travers.”

“You really don’t know who he is, do you, boy?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Just as well. Now, find the book on the history of magical Spain and read me the next chapter.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

~*~*~*~

It had been two days since they’d found the first clone. Hermione had had her heart in her mouth when they investigated the next two locations. Although they’d turned up empty, her feelings of anxiety only increased at the thought of what the next one might hold.

Draco had been withdrawn throughout, only responding with short, clipped remarks when questioned. 

He was aware enough of his surroundings that he stopped short and frowned at the door that Hermione held open. “Granger, what the bloody hell is this?”

“It’s what ‘my people’ call a gym. We need a break from the investigation, so I thought this would be a healthy way of working off some of the stress.”

“And what do you propose we do to relieve our stress?”

“Exercise.” She grabbed hold of him as he made to turn away and dragged him inside. “Look, Malfoy. I know this probably isn’t your idea of stress relief but could you at least give it a chance? If you bottle up your frustration any longer, you’re going to explode. I don’t exactly relish the idea of having to explain to your mum why she no longer has a son. Harry told me that she Owls the Auror office every day to get news about you.”

Draco snorted. “It’s fine. There are still four other clones of me that could stand in. Even the criminal one; if there’s anyone who can bring a wi—man to heel, it’s my dear ol’ mum. Not even my crazy aunt had as hard an iron fist in velvet as Narcissa Malfoy.”

Hermione guffawed then coughed in embarrassment. “W-well, glad to see your humour’s still intact, Malfoy. S-so, what do you say? I’ve tried their ‘second degree burn’ class, and it really helps to put your focus on what you’re doing instead of all the other things clogging the mind.”

Draco sighed. “Very well. But we get to treat ourselves to a good meal afterward. And I’m choosing the place.”

~*~*~*~

The little boy heard the front door click open and panicked. Only the Komkor entered the house in that way. As quietly as possible, he hid himself in the cupboard underneath the sink. But as his breathing slowed and the pounding in his ears quieted, he could hear muffled voices. And the footfalls seemed much lighter than the Komkor’s.

The sounds got louder as they entered the kitchen. He held his breath. But as the voices receded, he thought he distinctly heard the name “Malfoy” from the higher-pitched voice. It sounded like his mummy’s voice.

He scrambled out from his hiding place and ran toward the hallway. The two figures turned when they heard him. They stared.

He looked at the tall man and said, uncertainly, “Papa?”

The man inhaled sharply then crouched down and carefully held out a hand. The little boy hesitated. Now that they were at eye level, he could see that the man was not his papa, although he looked very similar. 

“It’s all right, Dr-draco. I won’t hurt you.”

The little boy beamed. The man knew his name! He rushed forward and wrapped his arms about the man’s neck. The strange lady sniffled.

The tall man lifted him in his arms and made his way toward the door. 

“Are we going home?”

“Yes, _trognon_. And we’ll have the house-elf prepare some macarons. Would you like that?”

“Yes!”

~*~*~*~

Their search was put on hold when the Wizengamot learned of the little boy that they’d rescued from one of Dolohov’s safehouses and were denied access to him. Draco was surprised that Potter and Granger also joined forces with his mum and him to set up barriers around the manor, effectively stranding themselves inside.

As they stared at one another silently across the tea things, Draco slumped in his chair. He was effectively back on house arrest again. And given his defiance of the Wizengamot, he was certain his sentence would be lengthened to some interminable period as they deemed appropriate. 

Only his young clone seemed unaffected by the tension in the air. He happily bit into his sandwich. 

“Smaller bites, please, _petit_! You’re just like... your cousin when he was your age. Now, have a drink of your water, else it will stick in your throat.”

They had told the little boy that the older man was also named Draco and was a cousin of his father, and Narcissa was therefore the boy’s great-aunt. The child had accepted this, although he’d asked where his parents were and (with trembling lips) why they’d left him behind. Narcissa had held him close and quietly told him that they’d gone missing because of some very bad people but he no longer had to worry for he was safe with them. The boy had cried, but such was the elasticity of youth, for as the days passed, he resumed his state of calm self-absorption. 

Draco had at first been irritated by the lad’s unconcern, but his mum had pointedly told him that he had behaved exactly in such a fashion and wasn’t it silly to stay mad at oneself?

He holed himself in the library, hoping to take his mind off things when there was a hesitant knock on the door.

He found Hermione standing nervously before him. He sighed and invited her in, shutting the door. 

“Well, Granger, you’d better spit out whatever is on your mind before that big brain of yours implodes.”

Hermione continued to fidget, drawing in one deep breath after another.

“Granger, if you’re desiring to peruse the books, you’re welcome to do so. This being the private collection, I assure you there are no nasty spells to ward them against the touch of… non-blood relations.”

Hermione huffed but remained seated. Finally, at his raised brow, she blurted, “You never told me why you wanted to find your clones.”

Draco sighed. He pinched his nose. _Bloody nosy Gryffindors!_ But he supposed, after over two months of tireless searching with him, she was owed an explanation. “Ever since the pieces of my soul were ripped from me, I’ve felt an… emptiness, as if parts of me were physically missing. I would occasionally feel phantom echoes of pain, which I’d thought were vestiges of the pain from the tearing, but knowing the ordeals of the first clone, I think I was sensing _his_ torments. And possibly those of the others.

“I know that the ones given charge of my other bits of soul would not treat them kindly. I was not told what purpose they had with my clones, and I was always fearful that one would eventually supplant me, having been tamed. But after V-v-voldemort’s defeat, I’d thought that, so long as I wasn’t imprisoned for life, I might search for the other bits of soul once I was at liberty and re-unite them.

“Of course, the timeline had to be moved forward once it became obvious that one of the bits of me had turned into a mad murderer.”

Hermione slowly digested his words and finally said, “How were you planning to merge the bits once you found them? You… surely you weren’t going to kill off the clones?”

Draco huffed and raked a nervous hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I-I hadn’t thought about that. Or at least, I didn’t think they’d be… _real_. I just… sort of thought of them as vessels holding a piece of me but not able to respond to things. Like how you’d described the Horcruxes.”

“Well, now that you’ve met little Draco, what do you plan to do with him?”

“Keep him safe, and ensure he doesn’t become an experiment for the Department of Mysteries.”

“And the bit of soul inside him?”

“I… I’ll just have to do without it, just like the dead bit from the poisoned one.”

Hermione nodded. “Do you remember what Harry said to Voldemort while they prepared to duel? About how Voldemort needed to show some remorse because that’s the only way to save his soul? I know your situation is different in that you did not choose to split your soul into several pieces, but in terms of repairing that emptiness you feel, I think the key is to find fulfillment and purpose in life, and perhaps along the way, also broaden your horizons and admit that some of the beliefs that you were raised with weren’t always… correct.”

Draco snorted but did not give voice to any caustic remarks that may have gone through his mind. Which surprised Hermione. She was fully prepared to argue her point, to defend it by assuring him that she was in no way blaming him for his prejudiced beliefs, to make him understand that he could rise above his conditioning.

“Well, now that you’ve unburdened your own soul for the greater good of your fellow wizard, perhaps I may be allowed to return to my book?”

Ah, well, she supposed it was too much to expect to have the last word. She nodded and left the room.

~*~*~*~

In the end, the Wizengamot was forced to relent. A formal decree was issued that protected the little boy from being tested upon, interrogated, or treated in any way that could be construed as harmful to him by any person, persons, or institutions. Violation of the decree was a punishable offence. Narcissa was also given full custody of the boy.

Ron was the one who came up with the nicknames “Draco Major” and “Draco Minor” to distinguish between the two, and much to the original Draco’s displeasure, even his mum began referring to them as such.

And with the dispute resolved, Hermione and Draco Major set off once more to search for the remaining clones.

~*~*~*~

The middle-aged man whooped in delight when the spell he cast stuck. It was but a basic _Alohomora_, but nonetheless, it was his first success. Excited, he tried its counterpart, only to have the opened door stare back at him in mockery.

He sighed and went to make himself another cup of tea. As he sipped it, he tried to rouse himself. He would try the spell on every door in the house. Surely the ability to replicate his initial success was an accomplishment in and of itself.

~*~*~*~

“Now what?”

Hermione and Draco were seated inside a café partaking glumly of a late lunch. They had found and searched the final location on their list. They had come away empty-handed. Somewhere out there were two clones refusing to be found.

“Cheer up, Malfoy. The Wizengamot will still look favourably on this mission because it confirms which of these locations are ones to monitor for escaped Death Eaters. And given that we didn’t find any indications that the killer used any of them, the Aurors can focus on other areas.”

“You’re a right ray of sunshine.”

“Look, it’s been a long journey to this point. And we found the most vulnerable of your clones—at least, let’s hope there aren’t other helpless children out there starving to death. Oh, Susan sent an Owl to say that she’s given him a clean bill of health. He had only been slightly malnourished when we rescued him, but under your mum’s careful eye, he’s flourishing. And Kingsley came in person to ensure that there aren’t any traces of Dark magic on him. Any harm from practising the defensive spells that Dolohov was forcing him to do were negated by his understandable lack of conviction as well as the creative spells that he taught himself.”

Try as he might, Draco could not suppress the look of relief at the news. 

Hermione grinned. “I think we’ve earned ourselves a reprieve. What say I bring you to the cinema, get our minds off of things for two hours or so? And no, I’m not going to explain what that is. Better to experience it.”


	5. Chapter 5

_Whole Auror Department Emptied Yet_  
_Cruciatus Killer Remains Elusive!_  
_Robards Closemouthed on Departmental_  
_Effectiveness_

A month after they returned to the routines that they’d had prior to their mission to find the clones, Hermione excitedly came through the fireplace at Malfoy Manor once again, having been granted permission (which, in the Ministry’s eyes, was not necessary, but her mum had raised her to be respectful of others).

“Ermine! You came! You were away so long!” 

Hermione hugged Draco Minor, who’d come running and clasped her knees so tightly that she nearly toppled. “Have you been a good boy while I was away?”

“’Course! An’ I beat Cousin Draco at checkers, too!”

“Did you really? And did Great-Aunt Cissa reward you for beating him?”

“Got strawberry ice cream, my favourite!”

“And did you share some with Cousin Draco? He tends to be very grumpy when he loses.”

“He did not, and I do _not_.”

Hermione grinned at the new arrival. She returned her focus to Draco Minor and gave him a small, wrapped package from her bag. “I’ve got a little treat for you! Why don’t you go and show Great-Aunt Cissa!”

The little boy grabbed the package and disappeared. 

“And what brings you to our humble abode on this fine day, Granger? Surely not to bring the boy another gift.”

Ignoring his tone, Hermione said cheerfully, “To see if you’re up for another search for the missing clones! I woke up a week ago and wondered why on earth we didn’t think to get a list of safehouses and properties owned by all the other prominent Death Eaters and search those. We may have deemed the top five the most likely custodians, but what if the clones were left with the others?”

Draco gaped. Recovering himself, he said, in an almost admiring tone, “Perhaps there’s more to that brain than useless facts from textbooks.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Well, are you game? I’ve already gotten the Wizengamot’s approval. It’s why I’m only asking now.”

“A legally sanctioned means of escaping this dull prison? How could one possibly refuse?”

~*~*~*~

They found Mrs. Travers and the third clone having tea outdoors on a rare, sunny afternoon.

Hermione’s gasp alerted the pair to the intruders, and despite her frailty, the old lady pushed the clone behind her and raised her trembling wand at them. 

“Who are you and what are you doing trespassing on private…” She narrowed her eyes to focus on the intruders. “Oh, so you’ve come to take the boy away, have you? Well, you will have to kill me first!”

Hermione was the first to raise her arms in appeasement. “We’re not here to harm anyone. Please, could you put down your wand and we can discuss things.”

“I don’t think I will! And who are you, girl? Why are you hanging around Death Eater brats like him? Do you know his father’s been out murdering people? It’s been in the ’papers. Such a disgrace of a Ministry. I’m _my_ day—”

“The _Prophet_ has got its facts wrong. Lucius Malfoy is in Azkaban. The killer is… someone else.”

“Oh? Well, that’s not surprising. They were never big on facts, just causing a stir. Why, I remember the time they accused my boy of… of… But see here, why should I believe you? For all I know, you’re here for the family heirlooms. Well, I’ve got news for you: we sold them all years ago! What you’ll find are all fakes! That’s what you get for blindly following a madman. But did they listen to me? And now they’re all dead or as good as, leaving this poor old woman. And you’re here to take away my only companion!” The old lady began sobbing and turned to bury her head in the torso of the clone.

The clone stood stoically as the old lady cried. There was no emotion on his face. It was as if he were unaware of the events that had unfolded. Even when he was staring directly at Draco, there was no sense of recognition. He only reacted when the old lady shouted, “Oh, you blasted boy! Put your arms around me! I’m needing comfort right now!”

Hermione broke the ensuing silence. “Please, ma’am, we didn’t mean to disturb you. We’ve come to the wrong house. We’ll be going now.” She forcibly dragged Draco away and back toward the main gateway. 

Making sure she slammed the gate shut with a loud BANG!, she continued to drag him along the path until they were out of sight of the house.

Draco finally recovered from his shock and forced them to stop. 

“No, Malfoy!” She kept a firm hold on him when it seemed he wanted to turn back. “Just… just leave them be! Can’t you see that he’s under a very strong spell, whether an Imperius or something of that nature? He’s like a robot, only able to respond if given a direct command.”

“But he—”

“Really, Malfoy, what’s the harm? She’s right about being the only one left of her family—they all died during the Battle of Hogwarts. And look how frail she is. She likely only has a few years remaining. Why not wait until she’s gone to rescue him? By then, hopefully the spell will have broken as well, and he can learn to integrate into society. Meanwhile, we’ll just tell the Wizengamot that we couldn’t locate the house. We’ll go back in an hour and cast a Fidelius on it.”

Draco stared down at her. Finally, he sighed and pulled her toward a grassy spot. After they settled, he rummaged through her rucksack and took out the comestibles she’d packed that morning.

~*~*~*~

Draco paused at the entrance of the café in confusion. “I thought we were looking for another safehouse.”

Hermione blushed. “Well, I _had_ to tell them that, else they wouldn’t let me bring you here. I just… thought it’d be nice to have a bit of a break. Except for those few weeks when I tried to get together the locations for the second search, we haven’t had any free time to relax.”

Draco grinned. “I’m not complaining. I… didn’t think Gryffindors knew how to skive off.”

Hermione slapped his arm. “Shut it! And get inside.”

As they browsed their menus, Hermione noticed him glancing frequently up at her. “Is… something wrong, Malfoy?”

Draco cleared his throat and shook his head. “It’s… nice to see you in your usual form. I’d… rather gotten used to the glamour.”

Hermione raised a brow. “Is that a hint to put it back on? Does this mug bother you?”

“No, no! I… like it. I just haven’t seen it much, is all.”

“Well, your real face is nice to look at this way without the snottiness.” She blinked in surprise when he blushed. “I-I didn’t mean that in a nasty way, just that you’re quite handsome when… that is…”

Draco sighed. “Granger, relax. I know you weren’t picking a fight. Let’s just… decide on what to eat.”

Things were less awkward once their meals arrived. They managed to find safe topics of conversation.

When their desserts arrived, Draco offered her a taste and smiled when she accepted.

“So, Granger, nice as this is, I feel there’s something unusual about today that you’re not disclosing.”

Hermione fiddled with her fork before finally sighing and saying, “It’s my birthday. Unless it falls on a weekend, I’m normally busy, whether it’s school stuff or, now, Inter-relations matters. I just wanted to be able to do whatever I wanted for a change.”

“Hap—Many happy returns of the day.”

“Thank you.”

At the end of the meal, Draco insisted on paying for it, though he needed Hermione to help him with the Muggle currency.

She informed that she wished to walk along the street and look into any shops of interest. They had turned onto another street when she let out a startled cry. Draco turned quickly to see her being dragged away by a snarling man with a wand. Without giving thought to the fact that they were in the middle of a busy Muggle area, he ran after them and wandlessly cast deterrent spells while also trying not to harm Hermione.

Draco rushed forward and caught Hermione before she fell to the ground. He cast a Petrificus on the assailant to prevent him from escaping his bonds and confiscated the wand. 

“Are you all right, Granger?”

“I-I’m fine. He just caught me unawares, that’s all.” 

“Filthy Mudblood! Gryffindor whore! Thieving, know-it-all bint! You’ll pay! The mistress will make you pay!”

Hermione cast a gag to stop the ranting and they stared down at the dishevelled, grubby figure. She gasped when, looking past the matted hair and dirty, snarling countenance, she saw a pair of furious pale grey eyes. She grabbed Draco’s arm. 

“Contact Potter and the Aurors. We need to get him away from here.”

The Aurors arrived, placed the still-struggling clone into custody, and began the sweep of Obliviations and general tidying up. 

Hermione was suddenly pulled into a crushing hug as a fierce “Glad you’re all right, Granger” was muttered into her curls. They parted awkwardly and were led back to the Ministry, Harry, naturally, taking personal charge of his best friend.

Secured within the Ministry, the clone was interrogated. At first, he refused to answer any questions, choosing to only spew random, vicious comments. When he noticed Harry among the ranks, his verbal attacks became very specific regarding how The Dark Lord would defeat The Boy Who Lived and how the world could then be cleansed of all the Muggle scum.

Eventually, using a variety of tactics, including Hermione’s insistence on being present for one session, they managed to cobble together a basic motive: to capture and punish the brats who had dared break into Bellatrix’s vault. Indeed, when the Aurors re-examined the descriptions of the victims, one of them always possessed a feature in common with one of the trio: round spectacles, red hair and freckles, brown, curly hair. The family members or companions were unfortunate collateral damage.

The clone was deemed too dangerous to be committed to the insanity ward of Mungo’s and was locked up in an isolated, high-security cell in Azkaban.

~*~*~*~

In the end, having exhausted their list of locations, they had no choice but for Draco to return to the manor to resume his house arrest. Hermione promised to get Harry to help her convince the Wizengamot to at least allow him some outings—while accompanied, of course—in light of his help in the investigation.

At the front door, they said their goodbyes. Draco took a deep breath and was about to head inside when Hermione impulsively grabbed his hand and pecked his cheek and promised in a whisper to visit.

~*~*~*~

“And what odd Muggle destination are we headed off to this time?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “_You_ were the one that said you wanted to ‘do it Muggle’ this time.”

“Yes, but I’d still like to know what you’ve got planned. I don’t like surprises.”

“But if I told you we were going clothes shopping, you’d definitely decline.”

“What! We most certainly are _not_—” He noticed her smirk. “Very funny, Hermione Jean Granger.”

“The look on your face!” She grabbed his hand. “Now, come on! We’ve got to catch the train. If we miss it, we’ll be late for the show.”

Draco allowed her to drag him along. “I hope it’s not another musical about a wild animal who finds his purpose in life by disposing of the usurper and reclaiming his rightful place in a fragmented society.”

Hermione huffed. “You enjoyed it even more than me. But if it helps your sanity, keep denying it. I thought an American play would be something different. It’s called ‘Our Town’, and from what I garnered from the synopsis, it uses a small town in a northeastern state as a microcosm of life and the major issues that we all have to face as we journey through life.”

“Sounds delightful. I hope the meal is spectacular.”

“It’s an all-meat affair, I’m assured.”

“Lead on!”

~*~*~*~

On the first day of his newfound freedom, Hermione showed up early. She politely accepted Narcissa’s invitation to breakfast, accepting a cup of tea and a small portion of the breakfast items. She chatted with Draco Minor, who updated her on everything he’d been doing since her last visit.

Finally, they Floo’d to her flat and took a leisurely walk, hand-in-hand, toward Diagon Alley. Hermione allowed him to dictate which shops they visited. They spent equal amounts of time looking at broomsticks in QQS as books in Flourish and Blotts.

As they awaited their midday meal, she said, “How are you feeling?”

“Relieved. I didn’t think they’d let me out on the original date. Felt they’d extend it until I’d actually sat at home for 365 days.”

“Well, you helped capture someone who was a danger to everyone. Plus the discovery of the safehouses led to several more captures, further removing other dangerous wizards.”

“I hope you’re not petitioning for an Order of Merlin for me. I don’t fancy being lumped together with Potter.”

“Is being recognized for good deeds really against Malfoy code?”

“Not as such. But to be dubbed The Redeemed One, like Snape has been, certainly is.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. Whatever scathing remark she intended was interrupted by the arrival of the food. As had become habit, they shared samples of their chosen dishes with one another.

After tasting his dish, she gave her approval. As she swallowed a bite of her own, she said, “And are you still bothered about the emptiness? We so far haven’t managed to re-attach any of the missing pieces.”

He lowered his fork and pondered. “Strangely, I’ve stopped feeling the hollowness for some time. I’d just realized. Don’t,” he said severely, “give me a speech about how you were right about the supposed do-gooding being the perfect method of healing.”

Hermione grinned. “I don’t have to. You just did.”

Draco harrumphed. “Know-it-all.”

“Would you rather continue to suffer? I thought you said that the house arrest has made you reconsider a lot of things about the past and some of the doctrines with which you were brought up.”

“While I may have done so, I don’t feel comfortable discussing it in such a public place.”

Hermione sighed. “That Malfoy pride will get you into serious trouble one day.”

“Ah, but I have a girlfriend who will ensure I never have to face any dire consequences.”

“You will if you cause any trouble for her. She’s got The Boy Saviour and a clan of red-headed menaces who’ll make sure you pay.”

“So, you admit they are menaces, too!”

“Argh! Finish your fish. You’ve got a lot more Diagon Alley to get reacquainted with.”

As they traversed down the smaller side streets, the stares and double-takes became more obvious, as did the whispers, but Hermione resolutely strode forward, head held high and hand firmly grasping Draco’s. 

She was stunned speechless when he pulled her into a small jeweller’s shop and purchased a dainty silver bracelet with a tiny otter pendant, which he fastened on her wrist. She waited until she found a dark niche between two shops to express her thanks through a fierce kiss.

~*~*~*~

A soft “_pop_” announced the house-elf’s arrival in the library.

Draco looked up from his book. “Yes, Flossie?”

“There be a man at the gates, Master. He be saying he is also Master. He has not look like Master but he be not lying.”

Draco almost ran to the gates. Staring across the wrought-iron bars was a greying, middle-aged man. 

The man cleared his throat. “When I—you were age four, you snuck into your father’s private room inside the library and climbed onto his chair. You spun yourself around and around until you got so dizzy that when you climbed down, you smashed head-first into his desk and got a nasty bump on your forehead that you didn’t dare tell your mummy about. You hid in your room, thinking you could wait until it got better. But the hunger pangs finally forced you to summon Dobby, who subsequently informed your mummy. You were poked and prodded at Mungo’s for what seemed like forever before they would let you go home. Your papa was so worried that for two weeks, all the hard surfaces in the house were covered with cushioning charms. Of course, being bored, you decided to test the charms by throwing yourself at various pieces of furniture, finally bouncing off one hard enough to put a big bruise on your arse.”

Draco grinned as he recalled the incident, but he frowned as he scrutinized the man before him. “Where have you been? We’ve searched all the known and suspected safehouses and secondary residences of all those of the Inner Circle. And where in Hades did they get that hideous body?”

The middle-aged clone shrugged. “One of their victims. Either a Squib or a Muggle.”

“What?!”

“And they stuck me in one of Yaxley’s places out near Hutton-le-Hole.”

“We didn’t find anything when we searched the area.”

“That’s because the bof used blood from this body to set up the blood wards. So, until I could make it perform wandlessly, I was trapped inside. Dunno how he expected to get back in, but maybe it was a test to see if I could escape.”

“I see. I suppose I’d better let you in to say ‘hello’ to Mum. You’ll probably want to bathe first. I’ll get Flimsy to get you some robes.”

“Thanks. I take it you’re under some sort of house arrest. No way the bloody Ministry would let you walk away.”

“Too bloody right. And I was. Completed the term.”

They were midway toward the house when the middle-aged clone stopped in his tracks. “Where’s Father?”

Draco scoffed. “You don’t think they’d be so magnanimous as to let him off so easily? Azkaban for life. Unless Potter or Granger somehow convince them to let him appeal in twenty years or some such.”

“And why would they bother?”

“Well, you don’t suppose I just got lucky? They testified at my trial.”

“What?!”

“It’s irksome to be indebted to Gryffindors and their suffocating sense of justice, but in this case, I can’t say I’m too upset.”

The middle-aged clone quietly pondered. Finally, he said, as they stepped across the threshold, “You said ‘we’ searched for the house. Who is ‘we’?”

“Me and Her—Granger.”

The middle-aged clone gaped. When he recovered, he said, “All right. After I’ve freshened up and had a bite, you’d better give me the whole story. And get out the 1856 Ogden’s, if there’s still any left.”

~*~*~*~

Hermione greeted Draco with a shy kiss when she stepped out of the fireplace.

He took her hand to lead her out of the room, but she pulled him back and whispered, “Harry administered the poison yesterday.”

Draco let out a sigh a relief and nodded his thanks.

Together, they made their way to the conservatory, where luncheon was set out. Seated in one of the chairs was a balding, middle-aged man with black plastic spectacles whose lenses were so thick, one could barely distinguish the grey-green eyes behind them. He watched them curiously as they sat down.

“Seems Prototype Primus omitted some significant details about your adventures to rescue us simulacrums.”

Hermione could not suppress her snort. “Interesting names you’ve chosen. H-how should I call you?”

“Draco Major likes referring to me as ‘Porklone’. I prefer Bruce. Can’t quite explain why—perhaps a strange remnant of a memory from the previous inhabitant.”

Hermione had frowned at the derogatory nickname but now smiled and extended a hand. “Hello, Bruce. How have you been occupying your time?”

“Mostly reading and spending time teaching Draco Minor new spells. Delightful child when he’s not in a snit. Mum—Narcissa spoils him.”

“A-and you’re… coping with the situation?”

“It’s not ideal. I still can’t look myself in the mirror without shuddering. But I’ve been helping with the research to either re-join the pieces of soul or grow a body and transfer over. Not much luck so far. The wankstains didn’t leave behind their notes.”

Hermione digested the information. “Not that I want to put a damper on things, but have you considered what you’d do if you were… unsuccessful?”

“Keep this husk of lard. Inconvenient as it is, it’s still preferable to being a raving mad, murderous git. I hope you managed to convince Potter to poison the blighter.”

Hermione blinked. “Um, yes. Harry managed to replace the sedative that they put into his evening meal. They probably won’t realize for a few days that he’s… deceased.” 

“Good riddance. Don’t even want to touch the thing. Can’t fathom sharing a body with it.”

“Bad enough to need to share a body with your pudgy phiz, if it ever comes to that.”

“You’d be gaining important survival skills, cockwomble.”

Hermione guffawed. “You sound just like Ron and his brothers when they bicker.”

“How dare you!”

“Take that back!”

Hermione laughed at their identical, indignant expressions. 

They were interrupted with the appearance of a house-elf, who set a chocolate gateau before them with a single, lit candle poking out of its centre.

“Wh-what’s this?” 

Draco squeezed her hand. “Your birthday was rather ruined with the appearance of Psychlone, so I thought we could have a redo.”

Hermione kissed him and only stopped when Bruce coughed in protest.

~*~*~*~

“Where are we?”

“The family holiday home in France.”

Hermione gaped. “I thought the Wizengamot forbade you from leaving the country for two years!”

“This is spelled to seem like a part of the manor when occupied by family. So, the Ministry’s tracking spells won’t think I’m out of their jurisdiction.”

Hermione looked impressed, though she couldn’t voice it. “A-and Narcissa is all right with you not spending Christmas with her?”

“She was the one who reminded me about this house. We hadn’t been in several years. I forgot its existence.” He then gave a sardonic smile. “And are your posse of crackpots and weasels all right with you not spending Christmas with them? Ow!”

“I hope I’m getting the guest room with the best view.”

“If her harpy highness would follow me… Ow!”

~*~*~*~

The morning of New Year’s Eve, Hermione shook Draco awake.

When he finally rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up, she said quietly, “I was just alerted that Mrs Travers passed away sometime during the night.”

Draco dragged himself out of bed.

They found the clone hiding in a tiny cupboard under the stairs. He gaped at them and resisted their attempts to bring him out. Draco finally cast a fainting spell and Levitated him toward the front door. 

Hermione sent her Patronus to Harry requesting Auror assistance to handle the corpse and a second one to Susan to request a private bed in Mungo’s. 

They briefed Narcissa on the rescue and returned to the French abode for supper. 

Hermione requested the house-elf prepare one of the young master’s favourite meals and, as she enjoyed her chicken pot pie, gave Draco’s free hand a squeeze and said, “We’ve finally completed the search. How—what are you thinking about?”

Draco swallowed his bite and sighed. “Do you think he’ll be able to handle the truth?”

“Well, we’d have to break it to him slowly. At least he’s no longer under the spell.”

“And if he does fully recover, how are we going to explain his existence? At least with the drakeling, we can pretend he’s a relative.”

“I think that’s something the two of you need to decide together after he’s been fully apprised of the situation. The rest of society could hardly be shocked about Voldemort’s intentions to clone his most useful followers.”

Draco huffed. “I suppose. Although we’d have to find another property for him to live in. I don’t think either of us could handle living under the same roof.”

“That’s true.” She hesitated, then said, “You seem fine with keeping the clones as separate entities.”

Draco blinked. “I suppose I am. I-I think it’s rather nice that Bruce and the drakeling can potentially carve out a life for themselves with none of my—our past regrets as millstones.”

Hermione smiled. “That’s a really great perspective.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, the Gryffindor influence and all that.”

Hermione stuck her tongue out. “It seems Slytherins are human after all, capable of personal growth.”

“Insufferable swot.”

“A trait you find endearing.” She batted her eyes.

Draco choked. “Finish your chicken. We’ve only got a few hours before midnight. The house-elf has prepared the rooftop of the Paris apartment so we can drink champagne while watching the fireworks from a comfortable distance.”

“My parents have promised to record the footage of fireworks from around the world. They’re all promising to be spectacular, even if it’s technically the wrong year to be ringing in the new millennium.”

“The inherited folly of our collective ancestors who could not properly tell time.”

“Indeed. Well, I’m finished. I’ll go and freshen up. I assume we’ll be staying the night, so I’d better pack the essentials. Where should we meet?”

“The library in an hour.”

The fireworks exceeded expectations. They stayed on the balcony for a long while, soaking in the atmosphere, protected by warming charms. When the events of the past day finally caught up to them, they agreed it was time to retire. 

Despite the awkwardness of sharing a bed for the first time, Hermione found, once they’d negotiated their limbs and snuggled comfortably, that she could get used to the arrangement. She gave a yawn and closed her eyes.


	6. Epilogue

“Hi, Hermione!” Susan greeted her friend with a warm hug as she stepped out of the fireplace of the cottage. 

“Thanks for inviting me for brunch! And on a rare day off, too!”

“Don’t mention it! Now, let’s see the ring!”

Hermione held out her left hand for examination.

“It’s beautiful! And you said it has very unusual properties?”

Hermione cast spells to change the lighting conditions inside the room, and Susan gasped as she noticed the changing hue of the stone from green-blue to red.

“That’s brilliant! What’s the name of the stone?”

“Alexandrite. Named after Czar Alexander II because it was first discovered in the Ural Mountains of Russia in the 1830s.”

“And chosen because the colours of your two Houses are in one gemstone united?”

“Besides being rare and expensive and, therefore, proper for a Malfoy bride.”

“Of course! Now sit and tell me how he proposed! Tea?”

“Yes, thanks. He got his mum to preempt it with a discussion about how, despite the wonderful opportunity of essentially re-watching her son grow up, it would be best if he were raised by a set of adoptive parents and taught to properly function in this new society we’re creating; there were sly hints that the lad was quite taken by me. Then he got Draco Minor to do the actual asking. The lad’s eyes were so full of excitement at the promise that he’d be able to see me every day if I said ‘yes’.” Hermione sighed dramatically as she rolled her eyes. “So, of course I said ‘yes’. And the lad went and dragged the smug Smaug in to give me this ring.” Her soft smile of remembrance rather belied her indignation. 

Susan laughed. “Well, you can’t complain that his was a typical proposal.”

“Woe befall a Malfoy who is seen as ‘typical’.”

“And have you and Draco Major discussed formally adopting Draco Minor? It’s a huge responsibility. I would think you’d want to have the first few years of marriage to yourselves, to settle and work things out.”

“Well, normally, I’d prefer that. But I think going on the search for the clones for several months has given both of us some valuable insights into each other and how well we might co-habit. And having been thus ambushed by Draco Minor, it’d hardly be fair to go back on our promise. So, it’s full plunge into the deep end and see how fast we break to the surface.”

“Ah well. At least you’re quite used to troubleshooting in tight situations, given all your adventures with Harry and Ron over the years.”

“Misadventures,” Hermione muttered and then moaned in delight as she tucked into her omelette. “This is delicious, Susan!”

“I’m glad you like it! I’m trying a new recipe.”

“If you serve this at the next Girl’s Picnic, I can guarantee a vote to have permanent Sunday brunches _chez vous_.”

“I’d be happy to host! Gives me a chance to try new things and have a willing set of guinea pigs!”

“I’m sure there’d be no objections!”

As they helped themselves to the other items on the table, Susan asked, “And how is the, er, newest clone adapting to things now that he’s settled? Where did he end up?”

Hermione sighed. “In Finland. He sounds less confused about who he is. You remember how poorly he was after he was released from Mungo’s. We had to be so careful not to give him direct commands because he was still retaining some of the tendencies of blind obedience. And he reacted, understandably, quite badly to the idea of being a clone. It certainly didn’t help matters to see Draco every day and be dubbed ‘Subclone’, sometimes to his face.”

“Good thing Draco Major will have you to keep an eye on him. And be a positive influence on Draco Minor and all the other babies.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “What with my hands full of both of them, I think that’s all the ‘babies’ I’ll ever need.”

“Oh, come now! If nothing else, adding a little girl into the mix will surely help make them toe the line.” Susan grinned.

“Well, I suppose. Any way you can guarantee the sex?”

Susan’s smile broadened. “I’ll look into it!”

“Thanks! Oh, I almost forgot! Bruce thinks he may have found a means of re-joining his bit of soul with Draco.”

“Really! That’s exciting! But is the method dangerous?”

“They don’t know yet. He’s only just found a reference to a spell in a very old tome on loan from Deep Mysts. But as far as they can tell, the magic involved is not Dark. Something about attempts to lessen the effects of severe psychological traumas.”

“That sounds promising. Why did they give up on the search for a way to transfer into another body or to grow a new one?”

“Well, for one thing, the known method to grow a new one was used by Voldemort, and they didn’t relish the association. And from what we learned from Harry about that method, it’s about domination: bits of a progenitor, an enemy, and a servant all taken without proper consent.”

“It’s certainly in line with how Voldemort operated.”

“True. And Bruce didn’t fancy trying to adjust to a new body all over again. He said the first few months were spent learning how to make the body obey him; almost like being a puppeteer, except that he was trapped inside the puppet. And there were times when he thought he’d never get the body to perform magic. Like how we all were non-magical for the first few years of life before we were sufficiently mature and coordinated to learn control. And he made an off-handed comment about one dead body being more than enough for one lifetime.”

“Yes, I can see how he’d be turned off on several levels about taking over someone else’s body. I’d love to learn more about the magic of re-joining. I think I can supplement the research with Healing methods that could make for a safer and smoother recovery.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful! I’ll tell Bruce when I go over this afternoon.”

As Susan served a piece of her famous apple strudel, she said, “I’ve made an extra one for you to bring to the Dracos. I know they all have sweet teeth.”

“You’re too kind, Susan! Thanks so much on their behalf!”

“Don’t mention it. I’m really glad they’re all on the way to being healed. I’m just sorry that the other two couldn’t’ve had the opportunity. They should never have had to experience such violations to their persons.”

“Yes. I know Deep Mysts has been really interested in a write-up on them and maybe in the future, Draco will want to do a short treatise. With ample warning of the dangers to never attempt it, of course.”

Susan smiled. “Of course. I’m sure you can get Harry to put pressure in the right areas to ensure it, if need be.” They shared grins. She hesitated, then asked, “I’ve been wondering: do they know the reason why Voldemort wanted the clones to be different ages?”

Hermione shrugged. “We’ll never know for sure. But we’ve all discussed and debated the topic. And we can only guess that the different ages were further experiments. Draco Minor seems a pretty straight-forward idea: can you condition and train an obedient assassin from a young age. Child soldiers aren’t really an original concept and have unfortunately been used too often throughout the history of civilization—not that it is in any way ‘civilized’. As for Bruce, well, he actually came up with the most plausible explanation: the Dementors and the Death Eaters themselves were raking up quite a high count in dead bodies. And given that Voldemort wasn’t ignorant of the fact that Muggles outnumber wizards by quite a margin, why not boost their ranks by reanimating the corpses lying about, put them to good use?”

Susan shuddered. She tried to put her thoughts into words and failed. But her looks of shock, disgust, and sadness were sufficiently expressive.

As she prepared to send Hermione off by Floo travel, she hugged her friend and said, “Is Crookshanks speaking with you again?”

Hermione smiled and sighed. “Yes, finally. We’re going to need a lot of rules set up once we’re all moved in so that Draco Minor doesn’t cause another ruckus. Given his penchant for mischief, it’s no wonder Draco was so adept at playing pranks on us in school.”

Susan grinned. “A chip off the old block—more literal in this case.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “We’ve narrowed down our options of new abode to four. Hoping to decide in the next two weeks. I’ll be moving in first, since I don’t trust him to keep things simple and practical. When I’ve got the place presentable, you’ll be my first guest to lunch.”

“Thanks! Looking forward!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i discovered the dramione fandom in 2008 and began dabbling in 2009. and now, 10 years later, i find myself at a point where i think i've explored all the facets of this amazing pairing that have intrigued me and compelled me to write about them. so, consider this my farewell fic for the foreseeable future. i have no intention of leaving the fandom and will continue as a reader and cheerleader. to those who have guided, supported, and cheered for me on this journey, there aren't enough words to thank you--i am definitely a better writer because of you. so, with much gratitude, i will quote the late, great sir terry pratchett (GNU): CRIVENS! (you thought i'd quote tolkien, didn't you?)

**Author's Note:**

> https://mindmathom.tumblr.com/post/187083037085/sarah-paul-orphan-black-via-here-here-and


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